


Dead Cells

by bbcsherlockian



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 12:26:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1688306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbcsherlockian/pseuds/bbcsherlockian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's shame, such a shame.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dead Cells

Did you know I'm dying? Yes I know, a terrible shock. Sorry to spring it on you like this. But yes, I'm dying. I'm nearly as cold as the earth, can you feel it? Can you feel my heart? It keeps getting faster, faster, the beats all blend together after a while, although it hasn't stopped yet. 

(Goodbye, goodbye, he has no words left.)

My lungs are constricting, my mind is faded. Everything is marred, slightly blurred. I'm moving out of sight, out of focus. Can you still see me?

Maybe if I burned the sky nothing would belong there, least of all me. When you look at my eyes, for some reason I am reminded of this constriction of my chest, this burning in my arteries. 

You always look so innocent, so innocent and yet so knowledgable. 

(Did he have a wife? A next of kin? Can we bury him under this tree? Can we burn him and give him to the birds, can we take out his organs and stitch them into other people so they can live - he didn't, he didn't - can we take out his organs and feed them, feed them to the birds.)

It's sad, in some respects. I will never get to see either of the poles. I will never taste blood in someone else's mouth. I will never see you in your true element. I will never watch the sky become one with the tips of my fingers. Or maybe I will. 

But I won't ever know if you have lost an adult tooth, how many hairs you have in your left eyebrow (precisely), what your tongue feels like just below my chin, how many men you have killed, how many times your heart has beaten since you met me, what your favourite book was as a child, what you were going to buy me for my next Christmas, how your name sounds painted next to the stars, whether your blood is water or oil, how many wishes are embedded in your skin, whether you know my name. 

I'll never know because I'm dying, you see. Have I told you I'm dying? Close, so close to death but I can't quite fall off this precipice. I think your hand is around my palm, my wrist, my neck; you're holding me here. Just let me fall, let me fall. Pull me back. Allow me the dignity, don't let go until I have disintegrated into the dust that we don't have a name for. The sky is so near. 

(Oh look, sorry thing. Piece of flesh. Rotten meat. He's nothing now: his mind is dead cells. But see, he did have a heart. So vibrant it could almost be still beating if we didn't know, if he didn't know, his blood could thrive within his veins again. We always thought he didn't have one. How wrong we were. How wrong he was.)

I'm dying I'm dying I'm dying I'm dying I'm dying I'm already dead. 

(Yes, Mr Holmes, we're sorry, so terribly sorry. We suppose you only have a few years left, a few months, a few weeks, a few days, a few seconds, you have no time at all, no time at all, weren't you watching the clock, don't you know, don't you know, he doesn't know, the poor man doesn't know he's already gone, a lost cause, we're sorry, so terribly, terribly sorry, there's no time to say goodbye.)

It's you. You're this cancer, this parasite. You're watching me choke on my own air, and there is no known cure.


End file.
